"(...)'No one can ever know what we did!'
'No one ever will' I said, sounding far bolder than I felt. Things had already gone wrong, and I was starting to realize that a deed is never like the dream of a deed.
'She won't come back, will she?'
'What?'
'She won't haunt us, will she?' Only he said haint, the kind of coutry talk that had always made Arlette shake her head and roll her eyes. It is only now, eight years later, that I had come to realize how much haint sounds like hate.
'No,' I said.
But I was wrong.
In Stephen King's 1922
'No one ever will' I said, sounding far bolder than I felt. Things had already gone wrong, and I was starting to realize that a deed is never like the dream of a deed.
'She won't come back, will she?'
'What?'
'She won't haunt us, will she?' Only he said haint, the kind of coutry talk that had always made Arlette shake her head and roll her eyes. It is only now, eight years later, that I had come to realize how much haint sounds like hate.
'No,' I said.
But I was wrong.
In Stephen King's 1922
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